


Days of Future Past

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Pundit & Broadcast Journalist RPF (US)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-21
Updated: 2007-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:31:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1624442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      With apologies to Marvel for the title.<p>Written for GuitaristOnTheRoof</p>
    </blockquote>





	Days of Future Past

**Author's Note:**

> With apologies to Marvel for the title.
> 
> Written for GuitaristOnTheRoof

 

 

ï»¿There isn't a lot to do now except sit and watch what little decent television there is left to watch, which is essentially nothing with seasons rapidly coming to a close. Jon has never been keen on most shows to begin with and Stephen remains devoted only to House and The Office - enough so that Jon finds himself unable to remark upon the absurdities of the former without foul looks from Stephen and Stephen, despite his obvious affection for Steve, has never been keen on the reminiscing Jon attempts to lure out of him during the latter.

They sit on the couch in Stephen's living room, firmly settled a comfortable but not unfriendly distance apart. They have gotten together once a week for the past month and a half for a full day, at first to discuss the finer points of handling the sensitive issues of staff pay and network bigwigs, and later to relax and keep each other from going thoroughly stir-crazy in the face of young children they love but somehow forgot how to cope with in all the busy days of filming and writing and book tours.

Stephen controls the remote, and flips at a regular interval - Jon has a beat down on the arm of the couch and can predict to the beat when Stephen will change from _Clash of the Choirs_ to Keith Olbermann and, later, to Anderson Cooper.

"Can't we just watch one thing?" Jon heaves an exasperated sigh and stretches his legs out, slouching down the couch to make his shoes even with Stephen's. "I don't give a fuck what it is, but your short attention span is starting to wear on my nerves."

"There's nothing on." Stephen has mastered the art of sounding petulant without sounding obnoxious, a valuable skill Jon knows has weaseled Stephen out of many a seemingly unsavory activity. "If there was anything on we'd be watching it, don't you think?"

"The news is on." Jon taps out a steady thrum with his fingertips on the thick upholstery - _two three four_ and the channel flips again to a carefully-styled Keith pointing fingers and waxing indignant about the latest Bush fuckwittery. "Leave it here."

"I hate Keith." Two three four - Stephen flips back to Anderson with a heavy sigh. "He never goes to the rainforest."

"You hate him because he never goes to the rainforest," Jon repeats, reaching past Stephen to retrieve the bag of chips the younger comedian abandoned at his side. "You should send in a letter, or try to call in. Mr. Olbermann, your show offends me: there isn't nearly enough travel."

"I think he'd rather I be offended by the lack of travel." Stephen shrugs, loosening his grip on the remote as his arm finally falls lax at his side. He lets his head loll to the side and raises an eyebrow curiously at Jon, both as question and invitation - Jon just shrugs in return and though Stephen's grip tightens again, he makes no move to change the channel. "He has a stick up his ass."

"You're still upset about that?"

"It would have been funny."

"Not everyone wants to be funny all the time. And I think Keith would hate to _not_ be the butt of his own joke."

"That doesn't even make any sense."

"You know what I mean, Steve." Jon rolls his eyes an pats Stephen lightly on the thigh, his hand lingering; Stephen relaxes under the familiar gesture. It's been a long time - but it still somehow seems like yesterday, the easy camraderie of being in a room together for hours on end, of rehearsals and writing and publicity events, when Jon could touch Stephen without feeling slightly awkward.

He moves his hand, after a moment, and they sit in a heavy silence as Jon wonders when it became _not okay_ to play and laugh and touch. The ridiculousness of it makes him smile faintly: something about that sort of nostalgia makes him feel sort of My Little Pony or something, as if they should be frolicking in tall grass fields dotted with monstrous sunflowers swaying in a cool summer breeze.

Stephen is watching television again, having moved back to Keith for the tail end of what Jon assumes is a particularly scathing "special comment" - he appears to have missed half of it in his daydreaming, but Keith is looking furious and just short of throwing something more dangerous than paper at his camera.

"Is there a reason we're watching this on mute?" Jon quirks an eyebrow.

Stephen gives a half-hearted shrug. "I'm observing, I want to make sure I've got his particular brand of douchebaggery down." He mimics a turn to match an invisible dramatic camera movement, and points an accusing finger at Keith. "How dare you suggest otherwise, sir."

Jon can't resist a brief fit of giggles - he gives Stephen a rough shove and Stephen falls back onto the couch, eventually slinging his legs over Jon's lap when he decides he's too lazy to sit up again. "Weren't you busy drooling over him a few months ago?"

"You make me sound like I'm twelve," Stephen replies, giving a distasteful roll of his eyes. "I wasn't _drooling_ ... that was before he decided I wasn't funny."

"That makes you sound like you're twelve." Jon rests his hands on Stephen's calves, toying with the fabric of his jeans idly - pleating the small amount of excess and smoothing it out again; he's always been a fidgeter and Stephen has always understood, occasional mocking of his neuroses aside. This time is no different and Stephen only relaxes under his fingers. "I think you're funny."

"You own my show," Stephen retorts. "You have to think I'm funny."

"I'f I didn't think you were funny, I wouldn't even want to own your show. Believe me, I find you incredibly entertaining."

"If you insist."

When they finally look at the television again Dan Abrams is railing against some tragic abuse of the legal system; Stephen turns off the television finally and Jon continues to pleat his jeans.

"It's late," Jon points out uselessly. It is late, and he's been here since three, maybe two, sitting next to Stephen and pretending to watch tv while he ponders other things, like how relaxed Stephen is under his hands. "I should probably get going."

"Evy will be back soon," Stephen replies, and Jon's not sure whether Stephen is agreeing or only stating a fact; sometimes it's hard to tell. "Tracey's with her mom?"

"Yeah." Jon lets out an awkward little laugh, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "I think she'll be glad when I'm back to work, I sort of fuck up her whole routine."

They share a few more minutes of comfortable silence.

"Are we going to quit doing this once we're back to work?" Jon is afraid he sounds petulant - when _he_ sounds petulant, it always sounds obnoxious, he's sure. "I miss this."

"Me too." And Stephen gives him a small smile, swinging his legs over the back of the couch and stretching as he moves to stand. "I miss you." A beat. "Which sounds a little Lifetime of me, I'm sure. It's not like I don't talk to you every day."

"We never go out anymore," Jon replies, only slightly teasing.

"You always got so worried." Stephen shrugs. "Then you didn't want to."

Jon can't help but lower his eyes and pick some lint off his pants, fidgeting again and swaying from side to side as he stands. "Yeah, well." A shrug in return. "All that's done anyways." He tries a smile. "Next time I'll bring something interesting and you won't have to worry about Keith Olbermann offending your delicate sensibilities."

Stephen pretends to swoon as they begin to head towards the front door, falling into Jon's arms and drawing another fit of awkward little chuckles from him. "You know I love when you protect my delicate sensibilities," Stephen sighs, smiling. "We'll see how it goes."

Jon nods, pushing Stephen away and resting a hand on the doorknob. "I try my best." He slips out the door and they pause there, Jon looking in at him and Stephen chewing idly on his bottom lip.

"Saturday afternoons are always good," Stephen offers at length. "As long as you don't mind hanging out with the kids."

Jon tries to restrain and overly enthusiastic smile and gives a little shrug. "I wouldn't complain."

Stephen smiles and leans in, looking as if he might go for a handshake and then a hug but instead he just presses a kiss to Jon's thinning hair. "See you Monday." And then he pushes Jon away, affecting a scowl as he closes the door. "Now get the fuck out."

Jon just laughs as he heads back to his car.

It's a start.

 


End file.
